


Blank

by laughtersilvered



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords
Genre: Character Study, Dissociation, F/M, Pre-Relationship, basically atton watches her a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-06
Updated: 2015-01-06
Packaged: 2018-03-06 10:55:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3131909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laughtersilvered/pseuds/laughtersilvered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The exile surprises him.</p>
<p>She is raw around the edges, like a discarded page from an abused notebook covered in caffa stains and half-forgotten sketches. Sometimes she filled in the blanks herself, made herself out to be a reflection of this or that person she’d met, but once in a while she was just… blank.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blank

**Author's Note:**

  * For [padyluppet](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=padyluppet).



> Written as part of my December advent event for padyluppet.

The exile surprises him.

She is raw around the edges, like a discarded page from an abused notebook covered in caffa stains and half-forgotten sketches. Sometimes she filled in the blanks herself, made herself out to be a reflection of this or that person she’d met, but once in a while she was just… blank.

Jedi are never blank; he knows this intimately. He knows this, just like he knows the timbre of a scream, or exactly the amount of pressure he needs to apply to a fingernail with a knife to remove it. Jedi are always full; the Code beating a vivid tattoo against the backs of their eyelids and filling their lungs with air… until they fall apart and become not-Jedi.

The exile was, evidently, not a Jedi. She fell somewhere in-between the dark and the light, like the infinitesimally thin borders of a shadow; impossibly thin, yet unmistakably present. She had slipped between the boundaries before, swaying from one side to the other, but now she fit firmly at a halfway point that he had yet to pin down.

Often it was just for a second, like the instant after pouring a steaming mug of black caffa when she stared at – no, through – the durasteel wall in front of her. Her eyes would empty, shoulders drooping and slightly to one side like she’s lost a port stabilizer (he knows that old saber wound bothers her more than she will ever let on)… but not a second later, she snaps back to vertical like she’s caught herself taking a nap.

It’s like she emptied herself out into that steaming mug, leaving nothingness behind. The void swallows her, and spits her right back out again. He wonders what she’s thinking about in those moments, and more importantly, what brings her so sharply back into herself. He admires her for being able to come back.

He’s watched her, time and time again; the exile is always giving away pieces of herself. I’ve lost myself enough times, he thinks, to know it’s not good for a person.

The next time she spaces, he tries to fill the silence. “Hey, I think my hand-to-hand is getting a little rusty,” he says, getting up from his chair and stretching overdramatically. “You feeling lucky today, Surik? Let’s go a few rounds before the mood passes.”

She knocks him flat on his ass, and he’s never been more satisfied.

When exactly did he start caring about this not-Jedi?


End file.
